


Weird. Alien. Stuff.

by A_Damned_Scientist



Category: Farscape
Genre: Drannits, F/M, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3486902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Damned_Scientist/pseuds/A_Damned_Scientist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had seen quite enough to last him until the end of the Universe. Slowly, quietly, he began to back away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weird. Alien. Stuff.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Starburst Challenge 82 on Terra Firma.
> 
> Vinegardog’s challenge was to make the reader believe in your non-canon ‘ship. There was a sub-challenge to make a drannit the thing that brought the happy couple together.
> 
> So, after one too many cheese sandwiches before bed-time, I came up with the following containing two or three of my favourite non-canon ships, although sadly only one drannit. When I started writing I only had in mind for Rygel and Noranti to be sharing a meal, but as I wandered around Moya in John’s shoes, crazy stuff happened. 
> 
> Setting is any time from early S4 onwards that works in your head. No particular warnings except for some heavy allusions to smut and some possible damage to your sanity. 
> 
> Not mine and no money made.
> 
> Thanks: To Vinegardog for betaing and suggestions.

The smells wafting from Moya’s central chamber were striking. Striking and all-pervasive. Odoriferous tendrils snaked out, worming their way into every nook and cranny of the giant Leviathan. At first John thought he detected spicy fragrances, reminiscent of an Earth curry. But these swirled, mixed and blended with pungent undertones that soon hinted more of gym changing rooms from his high school days.  And then there was the lasting after-taste of something… oily and… distinctly odd. He smacked his lips and tongue, trying to shake the taste sensation. It reminded him vaguely of his one and only encounter with Marmite, on one of his work trips to Australia.  
  
Unable to escape from the fragrances, unable even to concentrate, John stopped playing with himself, banging down his bishop with a heavy, resigned sigh. He abandoned his game of one-person-chess, stood, and left his quarters in search of answers.  
  
Nobody seemed to be about: He wandered into Pilot’s chamber, recalling that earlier that day Aeryn had promised to help Pilot with something or other. “Personal business,” he seemed to recall her saying in a brusque manner which was clearly intended to discourage further enquiry. Well, he was going right by Pilot’s den, so, personal or not… John activated the door release and strolled into Pilot’s chamber.  
  
As John made his way across the precipitous walkway he couldn’t help but notice the faraway, glazed look on Pilot’s face. He was soon distracted, though, by the enticing, slightly arousing sounds of Aeryn grunting and labouring away, which sounded like they were coming from nearby, seemingly from deep inside the console.  
  
“What is…  That…  Smell?” John wrinkled his whole face in a misguided attempt to pin down the olfactory sensation.  
  
“Uh. What?” Aeryn’s head bobbed up out of the centre of Pilot’s console, just in front of his torso. She squirmed and twisted slightly more into view – wherever she had been working, it was obviously a tight and difficult fit. Dirty, too, judging from the state of her. She steadied herself against the edge of the console. Her other hand held an unidentified device, which she had presumably been using to conduct whatever essential procedure she was conducting for Pilot. Wisps of hair escaped from her loose braid, straying across her flushed and goo-smeared cheeks. John thought she looked adorable.  
  
“The smell?” John repeated. Aeryn sniffed the air once, twice. Her nose wiggled delightfully.  
  
“Oh, that? Smells like someone’s cooking,” she stated entirely factually but almost entirely unhelpfully, just like a Microsoft error message. “Why don’t you go to the central chamber and find out?”  
  
“Fancy coming?” John asked. She shook her head once, sharply, in her endearingly habitual manner.  
  
“Not yet. Gotta finish up here.” And with that she wriggled back down between the console and Pilot, out of John’s view.  
  
“What you up to, Aer?” John enquired, his curiosity getting the better of him as he tried to peer over the edge of the console.  
  
“Nothing.” She snapped back. John couldn’t see a thing, no matter how far over he leaned. Aeryn had vanished entirely. She must have gone down really deep… “Go away,” her disembodied voice added sharply, the tone brooking no further discussion of the matter.  
  
John scowled, disappointed by his perfunctory dismissal, and turned to go, sparing only a microt’s backwards glance and a frown at a particularly loud grunt from Aeryn. Just then, as he neared the exit, a small tremor seemed to shake the Leviathan, accompanied by a momentary flicker from the main lighting. Pilot remained silent, save for what sounded like a long, drawn out and heartfelt sigh: “Ah….  Yesssss!” It almost sounded like. His eyes stayed distant and unfocussed, but his expression was now one of transcendent joy.  
  
John stared for a moment and when no explanation presented itself, shook his head and strode off across the walkway, heading towards the central chamber. “Weird. Alien. Stuff.”  He muttered under his breath as he left.  
  
As John approached the central chamber the smells became stronger and the lights became dimmer. He briefly considered asking Pilot about the lighting, but then remembered the strange look on the giant crustacean’s face: He’d get no sense there.  
  
Voices and laughter lilted down the corridor. For some reason John felt that he ought to approach with discretion, so he tip-toed the last few steps towards the door. Slowly, stealthily, he inclined his head forward and peered around the doorframe, into the central chamber.  
  
Flickering candlelight portrayed a grisly scene.  
  
“You’ve truly outdone yourself this time!” Rygel growled appreciatively, licking his fingers sensuously before lifting another morsel of food to his mouth from the small, intimate table where he sat with his dining partner. “I’ve not had roast drannit this good since…” the last words were lost as his mouth closed around what appeared to be a steaming, dripping chunk of dark meat.  
  
“Here, a Dominar shouldn’t have to…” Noranti purred, leaning across the small, fancy table towards the diminutive gourmand, nearly causing her loomas to spill from the plunging neckline of what looked like something that Jool might have left aboard Moya, having decided it to be too immodest even for her. Rygel chuckled, deeply, outrageously, as the Traskan’s nimble fingers swept a dribble of gravy from his beard and up into his mouth.  
  
“Ugh! That’s not right!” John whispered to himself as Rygel suckled, long, hard and noisily on Noranti’s fingers, eliciting a girlish giggle of delight from the old lady. Fortunately, neither of them seemed to hear his disapproval. It was no surprise, really, considering that they only seemed to have eyes for each other.  
  
John, on the other hand, had seen quite enough of both of them to last him until the end of the Universe. Slowly, quietly, he began to back away, his feet leading him on autopilot towards his own quarters. “Weird. Alien. Shit.” He muttered as his mind wrestled with what he might to do with himself in order to take his mind off the wonders he had seen. No point in calling Aeryn, or Pilot: They seemed busy with their own… whatever it was they were up to.   
  
John found himself back at his quarters, where his eyes fell on his home-made golf club, propped up in the corner with a couple of home-made golf balls resting at the base. What was a guy to do? Well, the only other person on the ship was Chiana. Maybe she’d enjoy playing with him. He hit the comms: “Chi?”  
  
“Yeah?” came her throaty, lusty reply.  
  
“You fancy coming over to my quarters and giving my balls a good bashing?” he asked, supreme in his fortress of naïve innocence.  
  
“Sure,” he heard her spluttering with what seemed like mirth. “I was beginning to think you’d never ask!”  
  
  
The end


End file.
